


Keep a Watchful Eye

by 1478963255



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Porn, Complicated Relationships, Dedue/Dimitri side relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Smut, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sexual Fantasy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unbeta'd we die like Glenn, Unrequited Love, War, prisoner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21576667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1478963255/pseuds/1478963255
Summary: Dedue has been tasked with watching over Hubert, whose truth stings sharper than any blade. Perhaps they are not so different after all.M/M relationship. Enemies to lovers(?) or some sort of sexual relationship. Slow burn/ slow build-up. Unrequited love. AU where Edelgard has gone mad and Hubert has defected. Tags will be updated as chapters are posted.
Relationships: Dedue Molinaro/Hubert von Vestra, Mentions of Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 23
Kudos: 75





	1. Scrutiny

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the hiatus! I think Kinktober really burned me out but I'm going to try and start writing again.
> 
> I've been playing with this idea in my head for quite a while now; the idea of Hubert and Dedue being in some sort of intimate relationship. It's strained, difficult and I think one of the rarest-pairs I've seen from this fandom. The two aren't as different from one another as they think, either.
> 
> I've used the idea of Edelgard going mad and Hubert defecting in another fic of mine - I know it'd probably never happen but it's the only way I can think to have Hubert around without Edelgard! Hubert has left his Empress and although he has sworn total loyalty to his old professor and her cause, he still can't be trusted, which is why he's still locked away in the dungeon for now, with Dedue to look over him.
> 
> First chapter is plot, with mentions of unrequited love for both Dedue and Hubert (towards Dimitri and Edelgard, respectively.)

“Dedue.”

“Yes, your Highness?”

“I have a request to make of you.”

When Dedue immediately replied with his ever-dutiful response of ‘anything, Your Highness’, he immediately regretted it. Dedue had never regretted taking on a favour or task from Dimitri and he thought such a day would never come but as the words tumbled from Dimitri’s pale lips, a sense of cold dread washed over him.

“You must keep watch over Hubert.”

“My Lord?”

Dimitri folded his arms over his chest and kicked a leg to fold it over the other at the knee, sitting at his desk in his bedroom. It was almost childish; the fact that two fully grown men were still staying in their academy dormitories and one asking the other to spy on a person neither trusted, like teenagers having a squabble. But this was more than a petty argument between young boys.

“I do not like it any more than you do but I believe you to be the best man suited for such an arduous task.” Dimitri’s chin was tucked into his chest and his single eye was closed as if he hated to say the words himself.

Dedue’s heavy brow creased and his thick eyebrows almost met. His lips tightened and pursed as he considered what Dimitri had asked of him. Hubert was a man none at the monastery wanted to be around longer than a few moments – he seemed to emanate a malicious aura that could corrupt anything, and Dedue speculated that if the man were to walk on Duscur soil, he would wither the flowers themselves with only his presence.

Now let it be known that Dedue was a strong man; brave, loyal and fearless, he would tackle any threat head on for the sake of his Lord and king, Dimitri. He would do the same for any of his friends and his old professor too.

But he was not a foolish man.

Dedue was not stupid enough to ignore what this task asked of him. He let his eyes fall to the floor and he studied the intricate weaving and patterns of the rug beneath Dimitri’s greaves.

“We cannot trust him,” Dedue said.

“Which is why this task has ungraciously fallen upon you,” Dimitri said solemnly, his eye opening to meet Dedue’s. He sighed dejectedly. “You are the strongest man I know, Dedue, physically and mentally; I know that you will be able to withstand whatever Hubert may throw at you. Of course, it will not be you all the time. The professor and Hanneman will also take shifts in watching over Hubert.”

“The professor and Hanneman are expertly trained in magic. I…” Dedue faltered and met Dimitri’s gaze. “I will be no match for such dark magic.”

Dimitri swallowed. “The professor has forbidden me from taking this task upon myself. I immediately offered myself up.” The crown-prince tutted annoyedly and a frustrated expression crossed his darkened face as he turned his gaze to the side. “She dismissed the idea, claiming I am ‘too important’ to lose.”

Dedue nodded in agreement. Yes, of course. Even if he had heard that Dimitri was to be one to watch over Hubert he would immediately have leapt in and taken his king’s place. He would not have allowed himself to continue living if he knew that harm had befallen Dimitri because he had not stepped in, as a vassal should, to protect his liege.

And yet, the undeniable sense of fear trickling through his veins made him hesitate.

“Felix is forbidden from even looking at Hubert,” Dimitri continued. “He would try to cleave that man’s head from his shoulders given the chance… though I have no doubt Hubert would obliterate him before he could even reach for his sword.”

Once more, the man of Duscur nodded. He shifted awkwardly on Dimitri’s bed, heavy boots grinding down into the dusty carpet that had remained unbeaten and undisturbed for over five years. He twisted his gauntlets in his hands and knew that all other possible persons had been dismissed before it came to him; Ashe, Annette and Lysithea all trembled in fear as soon as Hubert entered a room. Ingrid, Mercedes and Marianne had very wisely asked not to be put on Hubert’s watch. Mostly men remained; Ignatz, Cyril and Lorenz had all been counted out of the equation too with the former two being too young and small to even possibly stand up to Hubert and Lorenz’ social power within the Alliance region was too great to lose.

With only the professor herself, Hanneman, Seteth, Claude, and the few remaining Blue Lions boys left, a decision was made. Felix would be far too reckless in trying to seek his own revenge. Sylvain would not take it seriously enough – in fact, he comedically swept a hand across his forehead when he was discounted from Hubert’s watch. Seteth was busy with running the monastery itself and so only the professor, Hanneman, Claude, Dimitri, and Dedue were left.

The king and Claude were also discounted and so, the watch was settled. The three would take it in shifts to watch over Hubert from where he remained, locked away in a quiet dark cell, barely more than a closet.

Swallowing dryly, Dedue nodded. A firm, heavy, but gentle hand came to rest upon his wrist, and it squeezed reassuringly.

“Dedue, I would not put you in such a position did I not think you were capable of it.”

“Your Highness… thank you. For having such faith in me.”

“If I did not have it in you, Dedue, who would I have it in at all?”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When he descended the staircase into the lower dungeons of the monastery, Dedue was chilling with fear. It was not only the cold breeze that drafted up from the catacombs and dungeons that made him shiver, but the unsettling impeding darkness he could see looming ahead. Such darkness did not seem natural, an almost life-absorbing black, like dark magic sucking the very light from the world.

The flame on his candle flickered low as the oxygen started to thin slightly. He would have been able to still breathe comfortably if it were not for the tightness of his throat and the nervousness pooling there.

He only had to think of Dimitri’s smile when he agreed to this task. Yes, the prince’s gentle smile. It was honest, a real smile, and an expression he had not seen upon the prince’s face in an incredibly long time. It suited him so well and Dedue wished that Dimitri would smile more often but would feel horribly impudent for saying such things to his lord.

Still he could not help the flutter in his heart and stomach when he pictured the crinkling of his lone blue eye when white teeth shone back at him. Even through greasy strands of matted blonde hair and with haunting violet clinging to the underside of his eyes, Dedue thought Dimitri looked handsome. Beautiful, even.

His heavy boot scuffed against the stone floor and with his low candle, he could see the dust kick up and float through the air. It smelled cold; it was strange, to describe a smell as a feeling, but Dedue could think of nothing better. Dry, cold and only very slightly of dust, of course. He knew that this path lead to the catacombs and that further along, the smell of death would soon invade his senses.

Thankfully, Hubert’s cell was only a few iron grates down. Dedue counted them out and a part of him wished that as he rounded the corner, that the man would miraculously not be there.

But he was.

Sat upon his bed, fingers dancing, he twirled a tiny ember through his glove. It illuminated his face and cast an orange glow over his hallowed features that not even the heat of a fire could warm. His golden eye remained trained on the tiny sparks dancing between his fingertips and Dedue turned to face him, staring down at him.

Hubert was sat hunched forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he admired his own magic. He was dressed in all black, as he usually was; a long black coat with a high collar that connected a cape that draped over the bed behind him. He had numerous silver buckles and belts over his uniform too, and his black breeches were tucked into perfectly polished black boots.

The two men said nothing and Dedue watched him carefully for a few long moments before taking the old wooden chair that had been set aside for the watch and he sat on it. It creaked under his weight but still Hubert did not even turn.

If this was all the watch entailed, perhaps Dedue could stomach it. In truth, it was his mind that was troubling him; he swam with doubts about his own strength and bravery. Was he foolish for so recklessly agreeing to his king’s wishes? He knew that too often he had laid his life on the line for Dimitri when perhaps he shouldn’t have, but maybe this was just one step too far. Hubert could so easily tear him to shreds with barely a second glance and so that was why Dedue remained vigilant, back straight and almost pained against the chair and the cold stone wall.

“You needn’t be so tense, Dedue,” Hubert crooned, voice so low and thick like honey that the Duscur man had barely heard it. He stiffened in his seat.

“Forgive me if I may be tense when watching the Empress’ former lapdog,” Dedue replied, his voice stinging with a poison he had never used before. Hubert finally turned his head to face the other man, at last, and quirked an eyebrow questioningly.

“Lapdog?” Hubert tilted his head back to laugh, exposing the length of his thin, pale neck. “How ironic coming from the mad king’s _bitch_.”

Dedue’s nostrils flared and he almost leapt to his feet, but he steeled himself, sinking his fingers instead into his thighs where he gripped painfully tight. With an impossibly quick flicker, Hubert’s eyes caught the motion and his lips curled into a smirk and he twisted the hand dancing embers between his fingers over so that he could admire his own magic.

“You shall not speak of His Highness that way,” Dedue warned, low and threatening, but both men knew it was an empty threat. The professor needed Hubert alive and the dark mage would annihilate Dedue before he left his chair.

Hubert let another sadistic chuckle cross his lips, bouncing around the black stone walls of his cell until it met Dedue’s ears. “I shall never tire of seeing that expression upon your face,” he remarked cruelly. “The way your eyes burn with fury, your broad nose flaring like an angered bull, lips pulled into a snarl… I would say you are almost a beast like the king himself.”

Dedue couldn’t stop himself this time. He leapt to his feet but them dumbly, stood still. He did nothing. He did not reach for his axe nor grip the cast iron bars of the cell and rattle them like a man frenzied with anger. He just stood, staring down at Hubert with his bright green eyes burning and the other’s golden eye glimmering with glee. A sneer crossed Hubert’s lips once more.

Without a word, Dedue sat once more, fingers finding their place sinking back into the cloth of his thigh. Perhaps he _was_ foolish for taking on this task. Hubert was like a snake; slithering his way around the place and determining others’ weaknesses so that he could use them against him. Although, it was not much of a secret to any what Dedue’s biggest weakness was. Thankfully, his weakness was also his strength.

“His Highness has been merciful towards you so far,” Dedue said, trying to control the quivering anger in his voice. “I suggest you watch your tongue before he retracts that same mercy.”

“Merciful you say?” Hubert gestured widely with his arms in a broad display and with his wingspan he almost skimmed all four walls -three walls and iron grate, to be precise- of his cell. “You call _this_ merciful?”

“It is more than what you deserve.”

Hubert hummed for a moment and danced the flames along his finger a little longer before snapping his finger and the flame floated through the sky to a sconce inside his cell on the wall. Dedue didn’t know why he hadn’t just lit it in the first place. “Perhaps. But I so graciously offered my services to you all and this is my repayment? Such inhospitality.”

Dedue grumbled and folded his arms over his chest, tutting at Hubert’s words. True, the dark mage had readily offered his services to the professor and the others attempting to take down Edelgard but who was to say it was not a trick? Such a thing should not be put past Hubert.

He came one day, unexpectedly, hair a mess, clothes slightly torn and panting, with blood dripping down his temple. He practically collapsed outside the gates of Garreg Mach and the guards, wearily approached him. It was only when Hanneman, Manuela and the professor had taken him in that others felt confident to be somewhere near and his story was told.

Hubert claimed that Edelgard had gone mad with power and revenge, slaughtering any who stood in her way – even her own people. He claimed that Edelgard had murdered Bernadetta, the gentle and timid archer girl from their academy days and Dedue winced upon hearing of her death. He did not know her very well at all -she always ran in fear whenever he approached her- but knew that she was kind, quiet, and a good-shot. 

However, Dedue could not help his doubt cloud his grief. What if Hubert used Bernadetta’s death as means of bypassing their defences? What if everything he said had been a lie? Venomous deceit had passed by his lips plenty of times before.

Unable to watch his beloved Empress go mad any longer but unable to stop her himself, he abandoned her, escaping back to Garreg Mach where he knew the others would be, rallying their forces. After he had been healed and the professors had all taken their turn with him, he was condemned to the dungeons where he would remain under a watchful eye.

The other guards had steadily grown afraid and so that was how Dedue and the other two professors came to have their watch.

“You are still unable to be trusted,” Dedue said steadily.

Hubert leaned back and tipped his head so that he stared up at the low ceiling of his cell. “Hmm, yes. I understand your weariness.” His voice went slightly lower as he spoke, barely above a whisper. “But I do this for my Empress.”

Dedue stayed silent.

“We are alike, you and I,” Hubert then said and the words themselves rattled Dedue to his very core.

“We are _nothing_ alike,” he retorted, almost offended. Hubert’s face was calm and there was no trace of malice in his golden eye or thin pale lips, nothing on the surface of his expression.

“We are wholly devoted to someone, are we not?” Dedue met Hubert’s gaze and sighed gently, annoyedly, but he remained ever vigilant, weary that this was just another method to get him to talk and to lower his defences, to be exploited. When the Duscur man said nothing, Hubert continued to speak. “I am devoted to Edelgard, and you, to your… king. We would do anything for them without hesitation; risk our lives, cut another down, kill in their name without thinking twice… it is maddening, isn’t it? To be more devoted to another than to yourself.”

Dedue had never thought of it in such a way before but now that he considered Hubert’s words, _yes_ , it was true; he was truer to Dimitri than he was himself. How many nights had he gone hungry so that Dimitri could eat? How many times had he slept in frigid conditions so that Dimitri could have another blanket? How many times had he leapt into the face of danger, without thinking, to spare a drop of his king’s blood from spilling?

_Too many times to count._

“Does it hurt?” Hubert asked.

Dedue said nothing and just quirked an eyebrow in question.

“To know that he will never feel for you as you feel for him.”

His heart lurched in his chest and just for a fraction of a second, his eyes widened. Dimitri cared deeply about him, of course he did, he had saved him on the battlefield countless times too and more than that, had defended him when others looked down upon him for nothing more than the colour of his skin and his heritage. Dimitri was the one person Dedue trusted and loved above any and all else. But Hubert’s words stung like an arrow piercing his heart. Dedue knew that his affections for his lord often times ran a little too intensely and that tumultuous river was steadily deepening. His eyes remained trained on his Lord’s handsome smile a little longer than normal, his eyes skimming over the other’s lithe but broad muscular body in a way that was more than a watchful gaze, and, shamefully, over the swell of every muscle when they trained or bathed together.

Dedue could feel his ears pricking with heat and so he grumbled, adjusting and shifting his feet so that they were planted firmly on the ground. Hubert laughed softly to himself once more, an empty and hollow laugh.

“Perhaps you are more foolish than me; to think that your beast king would ever stoop so low as to—”

“Enough!” Dedue bellowed. He lurched forward in his seat and his voice boomed through the dark and empty hallway, echoing through the catacombs at the further end of the corridor. His breathing was heavy, and his eyes were wide, almost bulging out with fury. How _dare_ this slimy snake of a man speak in such a way of his lord. Dedue would not tolerate it.

“Keep your tongue behind your teeth for the rest of the night if you wish to keep it,” he threatened darkly, voice rumbling lowly in his chest. Hubert’s face was impossible to read for a moment; torn between surprise, mirth, and fear, Dedue wasn’t quite sure what to make of the dark mage’s empty face. His eyebrows were raised high upon his tall forehead, golden eye staring back and although his mouth had fallen open, as if in shock, the edge of his lip quirked and twitched as if he wanted to smirk.

A breathy chuckle escaped him. “So be it.”

Hubert stood slowly from his bed and unclasped the few buckles at his shoulder so that he could slide his cloak off. He let it fall atop his bed as he sat back down and silently, unlaced and unbuckled his boots so that he could slide them off. Perhaps too intently, Dedue watched – it was borderline intimate, watching Hubert ready himself for bed, but the man of Duscur was ready for the other to draw a concealed knife out from his leather boot.

Thankfully, he didn’t.

All that came out was a long slender black-stockinged calf and Hubert pointed his toes as he laid his foot back down on the cold stone floor. He took off his other boot and picked up his bed sheet. The professor, as kind as ever, had graciously granted Hubert a soft goose-down blanket; if they were to trust one another, the trust had to begin somewhere.

The dark mage drew back his quilt and slid beneath the cover, laying his cloak out atop the cover as an additional blanket. Hubert lay down in the bed, his head resting atop a pitifully thin pillow, stock-still on his back, almost like a corpse and Dedue watched him.

With a quick snap of his fingers, the sconce in the cell flickered out and from the darkness, Hubert spoke once more.

“The sting of truth hurts more than any blade, doesn’t it, Dedue?”


	2. Torment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri insists that Dedue take the day off and rest but he finds that he cannot, relentlessly bored and guilty having not done anything all day. He takes up his watch over Hubert once more and is tormented by the dark mage with thoughts he never imagined possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hubert gets into Dedue's head a little bit more; he's a snake of a man and I love him for it.  
> More one-sided Dedue and Dimitri stuff here, getting a little hotter but still not significant action yet.
> 
> I'm going to draw it out just like Hubert is.

“How was your watch, Dedue?”

“It was… uneventful, praise the Gods and Goddesses.”

“Are you sure? You look, forgive me, rather haggard.”

Dedue lowered the spoon of creamy porridge from his lips and sighed dejectedly. It appeared that, as ever, Dimitri could read him like an open book. It was the following morning and both crown-prince and vassal were sharing breakfast together in the mess hall. Although Dimitri had insisted that Dedue sleep through the morning so that he could be well-rested after his late watch, the ever-faithful man still awoke at the crack of dawn when a cockerel chirruped loudly and the smallest slivers of golden sun trickled through the dusty panes of his window.

“Do I truly appear so unpleasing to the eye this morning?” Dedue said, quirking an awkward and self-deprecating smile. Dimitri shook his head and offered a gentle smile in return.

“No, of course not, you are always quite pleasant to look at. It is just… your eyes. You appear rather deprived of sleep. I instructed you to rest through the morning,” Dimitri said, spooning a thick spoonful of porridge into his mouth and he swallowed it immediately, without tasting, chewing or taking the time to savour it. Dedue dropped his spoon back to his bowl.

“Forgive me, it was one order I could not follow. I had to be sure you ate well this morning.”

“Dedue, you just endured a night with the most hateful and treacherous mage Fódlan has seen for the better half of a century. It was no simple feat, I’m sure,” Dimitri said, shifting to cross one of his legs over the other, tilting his head to rest his cheek against the back of his knuckle.

It was true; it was _no_ easy feat. The night, thankfully, went without distraction as Hubert slept soundly and sometimes, Dedue thought he may have died for his chest rose and fell with very little movement and it was only when Dedue concentrated particularly hard could he see the minute shifting of the blanket atop the mage’s rigid form. Dedue also noted he was uncharacteristically still; he did not shift once throughout the night and stayed on his back for the remainder of Dedue’s watch until another guard, a brave soul, came and relieved him of his duty.

“He tested my patience and nothing more,” Dedue said, picking up his spoon once more and feeding another spoonful past his lips. Dimitri regarded him closely with a single bright blue eye that followed every twitch of muscle in Dedue’s strong hand and every curl of his lips as he ate and swallowed.

“Then I believe you did a job well done,” Dimitri smiled gratefully, pushing off the back of his knuckle to shovel another spoonful somewhat messily into his mouth. Creamy oats spilt from the corner of his mouth and tumbled down his chin, but Dimitri took no notice of it, still offering his happy smile. The man of Duscur sighed watching the prince; he had endured so much pain and torment and yet still, he behaved too naively and innocently.

Reaching for a napkin, Dedue leaned forward, muttering a ‘Your Highness’ and Dimitri leaned forward too, across the table for Dedue to wipe at the corner of his mouth and chin. Dedue could feel the swell of Dimitri’s lower lip even through the napkin and perhaps his touch lingered just a little too long, but the prince did not notice and instead swallowed, reclining back onto the bench.

“Thank you, my friend,” he said. _Ah_. That title Dimitri often gave him; _my friend_. Such a bittersweet thing to hear. Dedue loved to hear it because it meant that Dimitri cared for him and thought of them as equals and yet, it wounded him deeply, not only because Dimitri was lowering himself to the baseness of a man of Duscur, but because he saw his vassal as his friend… and nothing more.

In truth, it was not the watch with Hubert that had kept Dedue up last night, but rather, his cruel words and the thoughts they instilled in him.

Dimitri could never feel about the same way towards Dedue as he did towards the prince. He loved him, with every inch of his being and every part of his soul. He would sacrifice himself, willingly and repeatedly if it meant saving Dimitri. Prior to last night, Dedue thought he felt nothing more than devotion and loyalty towards Dimitri, as a vassal should, and yet, with Hubert’s words seeping into his brain and poisoning his thoughts steadily, he doubted himself.

Was it _just loyalty_?

Dedue lay in a cold sweat last night, uncomfortable with how his pulse throbbed in his temples and how his heart pounded against his chest. Images of Dimitri swirled in his mind, charging into battle with his lips pulled back into a blood-curdling snarl, eyes ablaze with fury and his lance ready to slice through any who opposed him. Behind closed eyes, he saw his prince training, without his shirt and in loose black breeches, swinging his lance with a powerful grace so that it cleaved through the air with an audible _‘whoosh’_. He could probably accurately paint every ripple of muscle of his prince’s chest if he were an artist, it was so well burned into his memory. He could see the fierce determination in his face and the sweat dribbling down his flushed face.

But the image that sent his heart aflutter the most, was one of Dimitri’s smile. His most serene smile, when he was at peace, which, thankfully, was appearing more and more often as he settled back among his cohort. Dimitri’s blue eye would crinkle upwards, wrinkling slightly at the corners and his teeth would peek out just behind his slightly parted pink lips. Each corner of his mouth would turn upwards symmetrically and when that smile was directed towards Dedue, he felt like his heart was filled with Fritillary butterflies, crimson wings fluttering about his whole body.

“Dedue?”

Drawn from his trance, Dedue lowered the arm that still held onto the napkin the rest of the way so that it lay against the table. He blinked a few times and readjusted his gaze at Dimitri who stared at him with a concerned expression.

“Forgive me, Your Highness, I was lost in thought.”

Dimitri hummed and shovelled the rest of his porridge into his mouth with a grace that was most unbefitting of a king-to-be, letting the milky oats slop onto the table and roll down his chin once more, flicking out his tongue to catch what he could. Thankfully, he had enough decorum to speak _after_ he had swallowed his food.

“You must rest.”

“I am fine, Your Highness,” Dedue attempted to reassure the prince but Dimitri shook his head, gesturing with an open palm as he spoke.

“I cannot agree. As your king -and as your _friend_ \- I order you to take a day of relaxation and be sure to rest. Sleep, bathe, read; do what you must to replenish yourself.”

“My Lord, I cannot—”

Dimitri raised a hand to silence his vassal and Dedue immediately fell silent, staring at the table a little disappointed in himself. “I will be quite alright, Dedue. I will have the professor and the others at my side.” Still, Dedue did not feel any better about his new order and perhaps, he thought to himself, he found it more difficult to follow than the order to watch over Hubert.

The prince could sense his vassal’s hesitation and the reservations he had and so he reached out across the table and leaned his hand atop Dedue’s. Even through the leather of his gloves, Dedue could feel the heat of Dimitri’s palm, radiating through and warming him. His throat tightened instinctively, and his eyes widened at the gesture.

“If it eases you, I will not train as arduously today. I will do something more fruitful… perhaps some gardening. Imagine it, the mad-king of Faerghus, _gardening_ ,” the prince laughed, beaming at his vassal. _Ah. Again_. The smile that sent Dedue’s whole body aflutter. He nodded without hesitation, the thought of Dimitri’s dirt-covered hands wiping the sweat from his brow as he tended to the delicate Duscur flowers enough to ease his anxieties.

“Very well… I shall relax… as long as you promise to not push yourself too, Your Highness.”

Dimitri nodded. “Of course, my friend.”

\---

The rest of Dedue’s day was uncharacteristically peaceful and yet, nerve-wracking for the Duscur man. He sat in his room more than anything and fidgeted with his own fingers over and over repeatedly, twirling them about nervously. He read a few books, some about cooking, some about axes and their history and another book and frivolous love between a knight and a princess that Ashe had practically begged him to read. It wasn’t that bad, Dedue decided.

He took a stroll around the castle grounds and decided to occupy himself. He counted how many cats he encountered. _Fifty-three_. An awfully large number of cats. How they stayed fed was beyond him though perhaps it was down to friendly chefs and talented fisherman. He was also sure that cats from the nearby villages snuck into the cathedral to be fed and then returned to their own villages.

He passed the stables. Marianne stood quietly, alone, whispering to her horse. Dedue could not remember its name but she treated it so kindly and gently, rubbing over it’s face and Dedue could even see some braids tied with white lace running through its mane.

Dedue passed through the library where Ignatz and Ashe sat with their noses buried in books and he felt that he should not bother them.

Dedue, in all truth, was bored.

He had not felt bored in well over a century, always occupied with keeping an eye on Dimitri. Even during their younger years, his time was occupied with Dimitri. They played together, running through forests with sticks as swords until their knees were scuffed and brown with mud, stomachs and cheeks aching from laughing for so long.

He fondly remembered laying down in the grass with the young prince, staring between the canopy at the clear summer sky. Faerghan summers were still somewhat cold, perhaps colder than Duscur winters but laying by the prince’s side warmed Dedue aplenty. In his mind’s eye, he could perfectly recall the shimmering blue of those big sapphire eyes staring back into his own green ones, the fingers of their hands intertwined. Dimitri’s blonde hair tumbled into his face and his young face was aflush with a rosy colour, exertion from running painting his cheeks.

Yes, that beautiful young prince was who Dedue fell in love with. Perhaps it was then, when he was fifteen and Dimitri was fourteen that he fell in love with the other.

“Lost in thought again, Dedue? My, you have been so wrapped up in your own mind this night.”

Hubert’s dark voice startled Dedue from his fond memories and plunged him back to the cold darkness of Garreg Mach’s dungeons. His green eyes flickered up to the dark mage who stood in the centre of his cell with one hand bent at his stomach and the other pressed firmly to his lower back, as he always did.

Dedue grumbled and pushing himself off his knees fixed Hubert with the hardest glare he could muster. He straightened his back against the wooden chair, and it creaked like it had the night before, beneath his weight.

Hubert watched him with a glimmering mirth in his eye and if Dedue was sure that such a thing was impossible then he would’ve thought that the man had read his mind.

“Remain quiet,” Dedue grumbled towards the other and Hubert chuckled softly. He took a few steady strides towards the bars of his cell and his bony hands reached out and clutched onto two of the bars. His face loomed closer and he pressed the bones of his cheeks up against the icy metal. Dedue watched the other, hand twitching at his side as he made to reach for his axe.

“It is your king, isn’t it?”

“I said, remain _quiet_ ,” Dedue ordered with more bite this time, hand wrapping around the handle of his axe through Hubert seemingly took no notice. He continued to speak, tongue darting out to wet his lips to spit more poison.

“You have been thinking of him again. Losing yourself in selfish thoughts.”

Dedue snarled and stood, his axe firmly held in his hand. He could feel the strain of his knuckle as he squeezed impossibly tight around it, the muscles in his arm tensing as he tried to refrain from swinging forward and slicing a clean line straight down Hubert’s face from where it pressed through the bars of his cell. Still, Hubert spoke, gold eye wide and the harsh shadows of the dungeon made him appear more deranged than usual.

“Tell me… what does a man such as yourself think of when he thinks of someone who he loves? Who he wishes to filthy and sully?”

Dedue thundered forward and his free hand shot out through the bars and gripped onto Hubert’s throat. The mage, momentarily shocked and caught off-guard by Dedue’s sudden speed and anger, froze to the spot. Dedue’s hand was large and his thick fingers easily sank into the sensitive skin of Hubert’s pale throat, squeezing tightly enough to choke but not enough to snap or kill him.

The Duscur man’s eyes were ablaze with fury. Hubert, once more, spittled venom, corrupting Dimitri’s very name and being as he spoke. Dedue would not tolerate such a thing and so his fingers squeezed just a fraction tighter. Hubert gasped but his arms remained at his sides, unmoving. Was this meant to be some sort of display of strength? Resilience? The fact that Hubert did not make to remove Dedue from his throat only made the other angrier and he snarled, lips drawing back and his nostrils flared. Hubert’s eyes rolled and even with his feeble throat in Dedue’s crushing grip, he _smirked_.

“Ah… so, this is what you would do,” he wheezed. Dedue’s eyes went wide.

_What a sick and twisted viper._

Immediately, Dedue relinquished his grip but he continued to stare wildly at Hubert, who now rubbed his bruised throat to soothe it with his gloved hand. Dedue was shaking. He could feel every drop of blood in his body burning, his shoulders trembling with every shaky breath he took in, trying to calm himself but he could not. The arrogant smirk plastered across Hubert’s face drove him to the brink and it took all he had remaining in him not to shatter open the cell door and throttle him until his eyes rolled back and his putrid lips turned purple.

“I must admit, I did not think you were a man of such impulses,” Hubert said, his voice hoarse.

Dedue hissed through his clenched teeth, gripping onto one of the bars to Hubert’s cell. “You will remain _silent_.”

“Ah, but it humorous to see you like this,” Hubert said, dropping his hand sweeping his hand against the hair that hung in front of his face. The sconce on the wall of his cell was lit once more and illuminating his face so that hard shadows danced down the side of his ghoulish facet. There were heavy shadows under his eyes and his cheekbones were chiselled so sharply shadows draped down his cheeks to his strong and razor-sharp jaw. “Just like Dimitri, you are a beast.”

Dedue roared loudly and rattled the bars of Hubert’s cell. The metal thundered in its place where it was ground into the walls, ceiling and floor, and dust floated down in pale specks from the ceiling where stone ground into nothing with Dedue’s anger. His breathing was heavy, laboured, and his throat burned. The cold air of the dungeons scorched his windpipe as he heaved icy air into his lungs. He was crumbling, his resolve being corroded by every poisonous word Hubert spat forth. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to hold on before he really did kill the dark mage.

“I wonder if the king would like to be choked.”

Dedue’s eyes went wide and he shot his gaze upwards at Hubert who leaned back against the farthest wall of his cell. His head was tilted back as if he were purposefully showing off the blooming pink petals of Dedue’s fingers bruising into his pale throat. His tongue darted from his mouth and ran with the tip over the inside of his upper lip.

“He is a beast, after all… it would not surprise me to know that his delicacies are as depraved as he is.”

Dedue rattled the bars and pushed his face between them, as Hubert had done, snarling and spitting as he spoke. “You know _nothing_ of His Highness.”

“And you do?”

For a moment, Dedue faltered. He knew exactly what Hubert was implying. Yes, he knew almost everything there was to know about Dimitri, he was sure of it. They had confided everything in one another; their favourite food, colours, places to be, and even their darkest secrets such as how they both had killed countless innocent men and women in order to survive this far. But… Dimitri’s ‘delicacies’ as Hubert so put it, _no_ … Dedue was in the dark about those.

He chuckled darkly. “As I thought.” He paused. “Are you not curious?”

Something grew in Dedue’s throat. An uncomfortable lump, choking him as he leaned his face against the bars, cold steel burning against his dark cheeks and he sighed. He was still shaking with anger, still burning with fury, but now that heat pooled in his throat and somehow, around the uncomfortably large lump, it trickled down into his stomach and pooled there, a heat Dedue had not felt in a long time. His eyes settled on Hubert’s polished black boots as he stared into nothingness, trying to reel his mind away from the thoughts Hubert was trying to plant into his mind.

“Do you think he would like it rough, _wild_ , like a beast? It might suit him,” Hubert continued, voice low but lilting teasingly.

Dedue wanted to roar again, but the lump choked him and all that came out was a pathetic and broken sound that withered away into nothing. Hubert chuckled. The Duscur man’s brow contorted and drew together as he frowned, lips tightening as he tried to control his thoughts. He focused too intently on the curve of Hubert’s ankles and calves in his black boots, trying to drown out the words he drawled.

“One hand on his throat, another shoved deep inside of him… he would like the pain, I am sure of it,” he chuckled darkly.

Shamefully, Dedue’s eyes fluttered shut and the image Hubert described danced before his mind. Dimitri’s body, sweaty and bare, laying across a bed with his hair tousled and sticking to his forehead, his arms above his head and revealing his hairy armpits, the smell thick and pungent in Dedue’s nostrils. The prince’s legs pushed to his chest, spread wide as Dedue’s fingers pushed inside of him, rough and quick—

“Like an animal in heat, I am sure he would _beg_ you to take him.” Hubert paused and another cruel snicker passed his lips. “So desperate he would allow even _you_ to enter him.”

Shakily, the Duscur man sighed and he could feel his grip on the bars tighten as his knees weakened and he shook, unsteady on his two legs. He could imagine it now: Dimitri’s strong, thick throat, resisting Dedue’s crushing grip but begging for more, parched and chapped pink lips whispering over and over again, aching to be touched, his chiselled chest arching up off the bed into Dedue’s calloused dark-skinned touch—

“I wonder, would he ask you to prepare him carefully before-hand? Or would he simply,” Hubert’s long fingers ghosted the front of his own breeches, “plead for you to _fuck him_?”

Snapping his eyes open, Dedue lurched back from the bars and turned, a hand covering his mouth as he gripped onto the back of the chair to stabilise himself, letting his heavy axe clatter to the floor. It kicked up clouds of thick dust and smoke but Dedue just panted, eyes wide. What on _earth_ had he seen and imagined? Hubert’s last two words snapped him from his delirium, and Dedue’s heart raced in his chest. It thundered against his ribcage painfully heart and he felt like he might vomit. The images of king Dimitri, so obscene profane, he had imagined would never be wiped from his mind’s eye now. How would he face the prince tomorrow, knowing that he had thought of him doing such illicit things? How could he face him, knowing he had pictured his dark thick fingers spreading open Dimitri’s most intimate place, twisting and turning, eliciting sharp cries and frantic gasps for ‘more’—

Dedue whirled back to face Hubert who was biting at his lower lip with a dark glint in his eye. There was nothing malicious about this expression, but nonetheless, it made Hubert’s skin crawl and blood run cold. His long pale fingers were pressed over the front of his breeches and he gave a gentle squeeze, locking his gaze with Dedue.

The Duscur man swallowed hard. _No. He could not tolerate this any longer. Not tonight._

“You vile man,” Dedue spat. “What magic have you worked on me?”

“Magic?” Hubert tilted his head. He blinked a few times and then moved to shuck off his cloak, laying it atop his bed as he had done the night before. “I have used no magic.”

“You _lie_ ,” Dedue hissed, bending to pick up his axe. He stood firmly in the dust and watched, ready, as Hubert undressed and unbuttoned his shirt. He had not done this the previous night and Dedue, for a moment, thought it strange since even Hubert must feel the cold of the dungeons. Still, the mage removed his shirt, baring his pale chest to Dedue, who shamefully noticed how flawless it was. Perfectly proportioned without a blemish, scar or mark, Hubert’s chest was an immaculately white, an unmarked canvas. His ribs jutted out slightly but there were faint lines across his stomach where his muscles showed, leading to dangerously sharp v-line into his breeches.

“The only magic I have used is that of my tongue,” Hubert laughed, moving to climb into his bed. “Whatever you imagined; it was of your own doing.”

Nostrils flaring, Dedue huffed like a bull. Shakily he sat back down onto his creaky chair and glared as Hubert lay, as still as ever, beneath the bedsheets. His blood was still burning hot, coursing through his veins like lava and the lump in his throat still made it hard to swallow. The heat cascading in Dedue’s stomach and settling in his loins made him shift uncomfortably in his chair all night, for the remainder of his watch.


	3. Captivated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedue is unable to control himself any longer and selfishly, with Hubert's words tickling at his brain, selfishly indulges himself. The following morning, an honest conversation with Ashe allows Dedue to realise the extent of his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely _love_ solo masturbation scenes, particularly when they are imagining someone else who they are pining over. Gets me going like nothing else. So the first half of the chapter is so self-indulgent it's filthy.  
> The second-half is very fluffy, light and sickeningly sweet. I love the relationship between Ashe and Dedue too and am hoping to draw more characters into this piece.
> 
> Little mention of Hubert in this chapter. Mostly Dimitri x Dedue stuff. Hubert will return being his filthy self in the next chapter.

When the guard came and relieved Dedue of his watch, the Duscur man practically sprinted from the dungeons. He held a hand clamped over his mouth as he briskly walked the distance back to his room, axe heavy in his hand, breathing laboured.

He couldn’t erase those images from his mind.

He _never_ would be able to.

Dimitri, sprawled out on his back, face aflush with a scarlet tint Dedue thought would flatter his pale skin nicely, that same hue dancing down the expanse of his thick neck to his chest where his shoulders would flex and roll when his hands came to rest upon Dedue’s strong chest, to pull him closer—

 _No. No. He couldn’t._ He couldn’t imagine His Highness in such lascivious ways. But as he threw himself into his room and slammed the door shut, throwing his axe to the corner of his dorm, Dedue clutched at his head and could no longer ignore the painful straining of his breeches.

His gloved fingers sank into his skull and he tugged at his silver hair, frustrated and awash with guilt. He panted, his breathing the only sound filling his eardrums as silence descended over him in his private room. Loose silvery strands of hair fell in front of Dedue’s face and eyes as he stared, unfocused, at his wooden floor, lost in his own thoughts.

Self-flagellation seemed like a suitable course of action to Dedue. Perhaps the sting of cuts and slits upon his back would deter his mind from illicit thoughts of his king. Perhaps the feeling of trickling blood rolling down his back would stir him from his stupor, lost in a haze of selfish lust he had never felt before. Perhaps, if he reminded himself of his place beneath Dimitri, he would not have such thoughts of him again.

Oh, but the thought of being _beneath_ his king turned him on immeasurably. The thought of Dimitri, legs spread, straddling his lips and rocking down against the tent in his breeches made Dedue’s legs tremble. The mere image of Dimitri with his lower-lip drawn between his teeth as he attempted a lustful smile down at Dedue, one hand planted firmly on his dark chest to stabilise himself when he rocked and keened against Dedue—

He couldn’t take it any longer.

Hastily unbuttoning his breeches, Dedue no longer cared for the hot waves of shame that crashed over him. Perhaps if he sated himself, selfishly, _just this once_ , the feelings would disappear. He knew he was lying to himself -that this would not be only time- and yet, he continued to shove his breeches down to his ankles, where they pooled around his boots.

With a shaky hand, Dedue let his hand ghost over the front of his smallclothes, dampened slightly by his own arousal. A shuddered hiss passed through his teeth and his eyes fluttered shut, head tilting back against the solid wood of the door as he allowed himself to selfish caress of his own hand. His thoughts strayed immediately. He wondered how Dimitri would feel; would he be soft and smooth, or calloused and riddled with silvery scars across his chest, stomach and thighs? Dedue wondered how it would feel to trace his fingers over those same scars and what kind of sounds Dimitri would make; would he hiss and tremble? Or would he plead for more? Would he be assertive in his pleading, more a command than anything, or broken and desperate?

Impatiently, Dedue gripped himself through his smallclothes, wrapping his thick fingers around his equally thick cock. Another groan fell from his lips as he imagined His Highness. A hand placed on Dimitri thigh to keep his legs spread apart, Dedue imagined the desperate expression across Dimitri’s face; lips apart, blue eye glimmering with tears, hair askew and body shining with sweat, he would look the very picture of lusty perfection. How would his sweat taste? Dedue yearned to run his tongue up his king’s sternum, over his collarbones and along the taught muscles of his throat when Dimitri would tilt his head back and breathe Dedue’s name.

The Duscur man cursed to himself and pushed his hand into his smallclothes, fisting himself. Without hesitating, he started pumping himself, fist flying quickly beneath the fabric as he imagined his name falling from Dimitri’s lips, hoarse, broken and desperate for anything.

_“Dedue, please—”_

Imagining the prince beneath him and breathing so heavily, begging him to take him tore a haggard groan from the man. He hunched forward, biting hard on his bottom lip, eyes wrenched shut tightly with his brow drawn into a heavy frown.

He imagined himself whispering back that they must not be so hasty, and that proper preparation is required, and Dimitri would whine impatiently, back arching up off the bed into Dedue’s touch, fingers rocking inside and curling inside of prince’s tight body, spreading open his most intimate place.

“Ah… D-D…”

Dedue wanted so badly to moan his prince’s name but knew that as soon as he did, he would be lost. He would never be able to say that name again without remembering how he said it with his back pressed to his bedroom door and with his first wrapped tightly around his cock. But he knew, in his fantasy, he would never moan ‘Your Highness’ without a feeling of restraint holding him back from feeling truly intimate.

But he was lying to himself. None of those worries mattered. He knew he would never be intimate with Dimitri. Some lines were never meant to be crossed. Only in his wildest fantasies.

And so, he allowed it.

“Dimitri… oh, goddesses… _Dimitri_ …”

The name felt divine falling from his lips, dripping with desire and shame but that same shame excited Dedue, made his cock jump in his hand. Were he to be intimate with Dimitri, he would whisper that name over and over again, like a mantra, into the sweaty crook of his prince’s neck until it became imprinted in the other’s skin. His hand pumped slower for just a brief moment as he thumbed over the slit, spreading the ample amount of precum collecting at the head, making the fly of his fist all the more satisfying.

“Oh… oh, _Dimitri_ …”

Dedue’s knees almost buckled completely beneath him as he moaned his prince’s name again, hunching forward as he sped up his fist, squeezing tight as he imagined how tight his prince would be. He wondered, briefly, if Dimitri was still a virgin. Years had passed between them, it would not have surprised him to know that he had lost his virginity to another woman, or man. It would only sadden him. But in his lusty haze, Dedue swore to be the only one to see Dimitri in such a lascivious state from henceforth.

He would be the only one to see Dimitri’s most honest expression, that of an unrestrained and honest pleasure coursing through his body. He would be the only one to thrust into his prince and hold him closely, intimately, _lovingly_ , and they would rock against one another, chasing a pleasure both had sought for years. Selfishly, Dedue imagined that Dimitri felt the same way about him.

_“Please, inside of me, Dedue.”_

A loud moan came from Dedue as he finally spilt himself over his fingers, a thick sweat beading along his brow as he continued to pump his cock tightly and quickly to the point of oversensitivity. His load was heavy, creamy and white over his dark fingers and it stained the front of his smallclothes. He panted heavily, body wracked with a burning pleasure he had not felt for far too long, knees quivering in his boots with his breeches at his ankles. His back was drenched with sweat too, pressed against the heavy wooden of his door.

Finally, Dedue stopped pumping his hand. His green eyes flickered open to the darkness of his room, illuminated only slightly by the moonlight trickling in through hid high dusty window. He was almost glad his room was not better lit since he knew he would only feel regret if he saw his own spend coating his fingers.

Leaning back against the door, Dedue stared at the darkness of his ceiling. He felt… _conflicted_. Consumed by the afterglow of his pleasure, his pulse thrummed in his temples and his heart beat hard against his chest. He knew, undeniably, that he loved Dimitri and would never hesitate to follow him to the ends of the world but, this new sense of lust he had discovered for himself ripped through him with guilt and shame. Never had he thought of his prince in such a filthy way prior to this night; he had only ever thought of him with reverence, admiration and love. But imagining Dimitri begging to be opened up, to settle onto his cock… it was disgustingly addicting. However, the slime still coating Dedue’s fingers was becoming uncomfortable and so he wiped them on the inside of his smallclothes, dropping them to his ankles too.

Clumsily and awkwardly, Dedue shuffled to his bed where he was able to properly remove his boots, breeches and smallclothes. He would have to wash them himself; he felt far too embarrassed to offer them up to the maids and cleaning-women of the monastery, knowing he had spilt himself because of his prince.

He lay down in his bed, still burning hot beneath the covers. How would he face Dimitri tomorrow? To think such things of his prince was one thing, but to act upon them… he knew he would not be able to undo such a thing.

Still, the act was done and there was no need to linger on it any more than necessary. Dedue turned in his bed and a scowl crossed his features before he fell asleep, exhausted.

He would _certainly_ throttle Hubert soon.

\---

For the first time in years, Dedue did not meet Dimitri outside his room at the crack of dawn to take him to breakfast.

How could he even let his eyes rest upon his prince without reminding himself of how corrupt and selfish he had been last night? The feeling of his spend over his fingers haunted him and Dedue had washed his hands thoroughly several times that morning to rid himself of the feeling but it was of no use; he could still feel the hot creamy guilt on his fingers.

Dedue, instead of going to breakfast, went straight to the greenhouse. It was a pleasant distraction for him, to tend to the flowers and busy himself, he thought, so that his mind would not stray to impure thoughts of Dimitri. He began to think himself a depraved man, one who was almost as insatiable and incorrigible as Sylvain because now the Duscur man’s mind thought only of Dimitri and all of the things he wishes he would be able to do with him.

The doors to the greenhouse swung open under his palms and the broken orange sunlight streaming in through the shattered greenhouse windows gave the place an almost other-worldly appearance. Bathed in golden glow, the flowers and plants of the greenhouse danced up to try and reach the trickling sunlight, stretching tall and high from the soil. Dust bunnies and tiny near-invisible particles danced through the air as Dedue paced further into the greenhouse. His fingers grazed over some leaves: the texture smooth beneath his touch.

He settled in the furthest and quietest corner of the greenhouse, kneeling before the planter which held the rare Duscur flowers. Almost all traces of his homeland had been obliterated, raged by fire and destroyed by war, and yet these flowers lived on. Blooming tall and bright, the scarlet petals stood out amongst all the other greenery, the orange pods of pollen thick and heavy and, come later in spring, the bees would float into the greenhouse and spread the pollen across the fields outside of the monastery. It filled Dedue with a sense of hope and happiness, to know that somewhere out there, the seeds and essence of the Duscur flowers were being spread, that his homeland still lived on, even if, for now, it was in the tiny corner of a run-down monastery’s greenhouse.

His fingers plucked idly at the stray green weeds and dirty brown twigs littering the planter and he set them aside where he could later compost them. He tugged at his sleeves and rolled them up, out of the way so that he could better tend to the flowers.

Dedue busied himself for a short while, soothing the petals, humming an old song his mother used to sing him when he was young – another trace of him he kept with him. No-one else had heard the song before, no-one else probably knew it existed. Perhaps, one day, Dedue would share the song with others.

“Oh, Dedue,” a quiet voice spoke. “I didn’t expect to find you here so early.”

Dedue turned and his bright green eyes settled on Ashe who was carrying a heavy water pail, riddled with rust. The Duscur man smiled softly; Ashe was still a gentle soul. Years of war had hardened him perhaps the least but that was not to say that Ashe did not bear the burden any less than the others. He was simply as fresh-faced and youthful as he appeared more than five years ago. Golden freckles speckled his cheeks and face and his silver hair had grown a little longer on one side and he had cut it slightly on the other, but his face was still round with big green eyes and a pale pink-lipped smile.

“It was too beautiful a morning to ignore the flowers. I thought they might need tending,” he said, offering the small archer a courteous nod and smile.

“I would say the flowers are already well-cared for but… it was Caspar’s duty last night and he is… less than enthusiastic about the flowers’ well-being,” Ashe admitted, covering his mouth to laugh a little. It was true; Caspar cared about little-else than being loud and knocking enemy heads together. He stepped up closer to Dedue and set the heavy pail down on the ground with a gentle grunt. The archer watched Dedue stroke the gentle petals of the smaller Duscur flowers blooming about the base of the larger scarlet one and then gasped.

“Ah! But what about Lord Dimitri? Aren’t you accompanying him to breakfast soon?”

Dedue startled briefly and was grateful that his back was turned to Ashe. The mere mention of his prince’s name made a rosy blush spread across his cheeks and he was glad Ashe could not see. Dedue cleared his throat and spoke steadily, as if trying to convince himself of his lie.

“I felt that the flowers might have needed more attention than His Highness this morning. Caspar is, after all, rather neglectful of the flowers.”

Ashe laughed quietly again and pick up a small watering can, dipping it into the pail so that the water filled it. “I suppose that is true.” The young boy turned to the vegetables growing in the planter behind Dedue and sprinkled water over them delicately. The soil absorbed the water gratefully, as parched as the hot sands of Brigid deserts. The two worked in quiet, content with saying nothing and enjoying one another’s company, the soft trickle of water and quiet tweeting of morning birds the only sounds to fill the silence.

“Lord Dimitri seems much better now, doesn’t he?” Ashe said, setting the watering can down after he had finished his round of watering the entire greenhouse, taking a seat on the edge of the planter behind Dedue.

The other man nodded. “Yes. I am happy that his condition has improved.”

“I wonder what did it… I see him smiling a lot more now, you know.” Ashe settled his elbows onto his knees and rested his chin in palms, staring at Dedue’s back as the other worked, thick fingers still working at tugging up all weeds surrounding the Duscur flowers. They were notorious for attracting them.

“You believe so?” Dedue hummed for a moment and let a soft smile crawl across his own face imagining his prince’s content expression. “Yes, perhaps you are right.”

“Everyone else has seen it too. He smiles a lot more and helps everyone out; he even offered to help me train and then asked _me_ to teach _him_!” Ashe shook his head a little. “I can’t imagine giving the King of Faerghus pointers on how to use a bow and arrow… the thought alone is absurd!”

Dedue turned to look over his shoulder at the young boy. “You are a capable archer, Ashe. I am sure His Highness would not have asked if he did not think you could not teach him something new.”

Ashe’s face turned a little pink at the compliment, and he tucked his knees together, his boots nudging against one another, embarrassed by the praise. “Dedue, you’re being far too kind. The thought of teaching Dimitri anything it… it makes me nervous. He’s so strong and amazing as if he couldn’t just pick up a bow and arrow and be incredible immediately.”

Dedue hummed and settled back onto his knees, resting his behind on his feet as he turned to face Ashe properly. “His Highness always struggled to use a bow and arrow… I remember him trying in the courtyards back at House Blaiddyd before we came to the monastery and he often broke the bows with his strength.” A fond smile crawled across Dedue’s lips as he recalled the memory; the look of mortified frustration painted across Dimitri’s face as he snapped yet another bow in half, this time the entire body of the bow rather than simply the twine. “Perhaps he is ready to reassume his training.”

Ashe hummed in thought, swaying from side to side on his seat. “Hmm, maybe… but there are better archers here than me. Shamir and the professor could help more than me!”

Dedue reached out with a soil covered hand and placed it atop Ashe’s knee, patting heavily but comfortingly. “His Highness asked _you_ , Ashe. He believes in your abilities.”

The young archer flushed another deeper shade of red that Dedue thought incredibly endearing and almost cute as he drew his bottom lip between his teeth. He bit at it worryingly and frowned a little. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin…”

Dedue laughed quietly. “Perhaps show him the delicacies of the bow; that one should be firm but not forceful with it. Even now he has difficulties reining in his strength.”

Ashe smiled, amused, and then met Dedue’s bright green eyes. “You care deeply for Dimitri, don’t you?”

For a moment, Dedue bristled. He attempted to play it off by giving a quick nod. “Of course. I am indebted to him.”

“No, Dedue… I mean, you _care_ for him.”

The other man swallowed. He wasn’t exactly sure what Ashe was implying but the young boy had a searching and questioning look in his eyes that made Dedue both terrified and embarrassed. Had his fondness for Dimitri become so obvious that others could now see it? He prayed to the gods and goddesses above that it was not the case and promise to better hide his affections, even if it would ache to do so.

“I… yes, I care for him as more than a vassal. He is… my closest friend.”

Ashe smiled softly, knowingly. “Yes, I can see that. You are always at Dimitri’s side, helping him with whatever he needs… sometimes, I’m jealous. I wish I could have a friend as loyal as that, to aid me and be there for me when I am lonely.” Ashe lifted his head laid his hand atop Dedue’s which still rested on his knee. “Perhaps it was you who made Dimitri happier.”

Dedue blinked a few times, eyes widening. “Me?”

“I think so. He always smiles the brightest when you’re around.”

His heart leapt in his chest. Surely, Ashe was just exaggerating but Dedue knew the young boy to be no liar. To know that Dimitri smiled the most when he was at his side, it sent another colony of Fritillary butterflies to his stomach. Dedue lowered his gaze to the floor and he swallowed hard. _Because of him?_ Surely not. Dedue simply did what any vassal would have done for his lord and thought that if he had been replaced by Ashe, Sylvain, Ingrid, _flames_ , even Felix, Dimitri would have survived equally as well. But a selfish part inside of him swelled with pride and happiness. Perhaps it was because he was always at his prince’s side that he never saw the difference in his smiles and was only ever accustomed to one; his biggest, brightest and most earnest. Dedue had done nothing extraordinary for His Highness, he thought; he woke him for breakfast, sparred with him, spoke with him, visited the sauna with him, ate with him, walked with him… anything another retainer and friend would have done. The only things that Dedue and Dimitri did not do together was bathing and sleeping. Face reddening, Dedue wished he could add those things to his already extensive list.

The door to the greenhouse opened a head of blonde hair peeked in. Dimitri’s blue eye searched the grounds before settling on the two men crouched low in the corner of the greenhouse and that smile came across his face.

“That’s the smile I’m talking about,” Ashe whispered, watching Dedue’s face.

When the prince stepped into the greenhouse, all time seemed to slow around him. His hair swayed behind him, sweeping from his face with the brisk pace that he took, exposing his delighted expression. His blue eye crinkled and his white teeth flashed at Dedue, lips seemingly moving slowly around every syllable of his vassal’s name as Dedue stared, watching the curl of his slick pink mouth around every letter. He was completely captivated by his prince’s beauty. Dimitri was a handsome man, of course he was, but under the golden light of the early morning in the greenhouse, Dedue thought he looked _beautiful_.

“Dedue! I apologise if I slept through you knocking at my door this morning. I fear I was enjoying my sleep far too much,” Dimitri admitted, rubbing at the back of his head. This morning he was dressed down, not wearing his usually heavy black and white armour. Instead, the prince wore loose-fitting black breeches tucked into a pair of black leather boots. His tunic was billowy too but rolled up at the sleeves, showing off his thick forearms, chiselled with muscle and golden arm-hairs glowing.

“No, your Highness, I did not wake you. I thought you might enjoy a longer rest this morning,” Dedue lied, though it pained him to do so. It was far better than admitting it was because every time he thought of him, illicit thoughts filled his head.

“Hmm, I see. I am hungry, however, and would like my friend’s company at breakfast this morning,” he smiled, offering a hand down to Dedue. The Duscur man stared at the open palm for a moment before taking it, being heaved easily to his feet by Dimitri’s impossible strength. He stared down at his prince, truly too enchanted by his beauty with the glitter of the sun on his face. His hand lingered in Dimitri’s hold as he stared at the other. He longed to keep his hand there and intertwine their fingers, give his hand a gentle squeeze and pull him close, hold his body flush to his and caress his skin— but Dimitri soon let go.

“Come; I hear that Annette is cooking this morning,” Dimitri said, giving Ashe a quick nod before turning on his feel.

“I am glad your sense of taste is returning, Your Highness,” Dedue said, trailing closely behind like a puppy eagerly following its master.

“With every dish I taste, my friend,” Dimitri laughed over his shoulder, stepping out from the greenhouse into the bright sun of the early spring morning. Ashe watched the two men disappear, rolling up his sleeves to weed the vegetables, admiring the precious relationship between vassal and king — no, between a man hopelessly in love and another too oblivious to realise it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is anything or anyone you would like to see added, or you have any ideas or suggestions, let me know! I'd love to try and work some into this piece.  
> Thank you for any comments, kudos and reading!


	4. Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedue reminisces on the moment he reunited with Dimitri at the Great Bridge of Myrddin. Hubert tests Dedue's limits even further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, Hubert! We're going to start bringing him back into the story now with things getting considerably hotter between him and Dedue. Things will still be slow however, picking up steadily... I still have no idea how many chapters this will be.

Much of the day went without interruption; Dedue and Dimitri enjoyed the hearty breakfast that Annette had prepared – she had become a rather accomplished chef over the last few years and was considerably better at cooking than her student days. Both men laughed as they remembered the state of the blackened bacon and overcooked potatoes that met their mouths when they were younger, though Dimitri never complained. Dedue stomached it as best he could.

Breakfast was pleasant for both prince and vassal and they busied themselves with battle preparations and negotiations, waiting for their breakfasts to settle in their stomachs before heading to the training grounds.

Dimitri twisted the wooden lance comfortably in his hands and wrung the stick between his rough palms, settling a bright blue eye on Dedue. The dark-skinned man returned the hard but confident stare, a grin quirking at the edge of his lips. He loved to see Dimitri like this; confident, ready for a fight that would not end in bloodshed, with a twinkle of mischief in his eye. 

He shoved the lance between his strong thighs and held it there as he twisted some of his hair up and out of his face. It was a new style the prince was quickly becoming fond of and one Dedue thought suited him remarkably well. It showed off more of his face and revealed how healthy he had become over the last few months. The dark circles under his eyes had faded considerably and the scowl he used to wear almost permanently had worn away so that deep creases no longer plagued his brows. He appeared to be more content than when Dedue first reunited with him.

When they reunited at the battle at the Great Bridge of Myrddin, Dimitri looked as if the very ghosts that haunted him had come to life. Dedue charged between his prince and a javelin spear aimed straight for his prince’s heart and deflected it with his shield. Time seemed to slow around them as Dimitri’s face went slack with shock, eyes widening, jaw unlocking as he saw the flash of silver hair dash before his eyes. Dedue twisted his head over his shoulder and barked for His Highness to watch his back but too frozen with both fear and confusion Dimitri did nothing. His electric blue eye stared at Dedue, trembling, and his pupil contracted into a tiny black speck. Dedue threw himself at his prince and with his shoulder, threw him aside so that he could tackle the swordsman sneaking up from behind. Dimitri crashed to the floor and when Dedue unstuck his bloodied axe from the soldier’s split throat, both men stared at one another in pure amazement that the other was still living. But there was little time to reunite when swords clashed, and arrows flew overhead and there was the pressing matter of the battle’s victory.

They spent the next few days without ever leaving one another’s side. Despite the need for negotiations, tactical discussion and strategizing, Dimitri and Dedue were never seen apart. On one night when Dimitri woke up howling in his room from his nightmares, Dedue was already pushing the door open. They spent that night entangled in one another’s arms, seeking a comfort from the war that only the other could give.

And how Dedue yearned to hold his prince like that again.

Yet, he was grateful to see the improvements, maturity, and growth within Dimitri. He had grown considerably over the last five years and his frame now better suited the strength that lay under those chiselled muscles. Still, he stood shorter than Dedue but secretly the Duscur man liked that Dimitri still had to look upwards to speak to him. It made him feel like he could protect the other better, even though he knew the opposite was also true.

“Dedue.”

The prince’s smooth voice startled the man and he glanced up from the dusty floor of the training grounds at Dimitri.

“Ah, Your Highness. Forgive me. I was lost in thought.”

Dimitri tilted his head and smiled, tying his hair up at the back of his head in a short and scruffy ponytail though some blonde strands still tumbled free to frame his face. “Ready yourself.”

Dedue took up his stance and twisted the lance between his own hands. Dimitri fixed him with a confident and amused grin, crouching into a lower position and secured his footing in the dusty ground.

“I would ask that you restrain yourself somewhat… I am not as well-equipped with a lance,” Dedue admitted, the light weight of the slim wooden pole foreign in his thick hands. Dimitri tutted and shook his head.

“Now where is the fun in that?”

\---

They sparred long and hard until Dedue was knocked on his back for the final time that sent all the breath rushing from his lungs. He laughed heartily and tried to ignore the sting at the back of his skull, the base of his spine, and the ringing in his ears when he saw Dimitri’s happy and flushed face.

Felix soon entered the training grounds too, drawn to the sound of wood clashing and splintering against wood like any would be to a beautiful song. He shot Dedue a bitter expression and barked at him to leave so that he might take up his training with a ‘half-worthy opponent’ as he so roughly put it. The Duscur man and Dimitri shared a knowing smile and with a low bow, Dedue made to leave for the cathedral’s bathhouse before his watch.

His day had been so pleasant he had almost entirely forgotten about the mage. But the dark cloud of resentment loomed over Dedue’s head as he thought about the drudgery. He hated to ruin his blissful day with Hubert’s presence but there was nothing to be done and he would do his duty regardless.

He descended the musty staircase into the dungeons of the cathedral, a path that was becoming all too familiar to him against all his wishes. Dedue held the golden plate delicately so that the candle’s flame flickered down the walls. His footsteps were quiet in the dust and his gaze begrudgingly settled upon Hubert.

The mage was reclined in his bed with a book in his hands. Hanneman had been on watch prior to him and so he assumed the veteran professor had allowed the mage some reading. Dedue prayed that it was not a spell tome with any new incantations but upon closer inspection, he could see it was a fiction book, one that Ashe had busied himself with before.

“What drivel,” Hubert groaned, tilting the book towards his chest so that his eye could settle over the top of it on Dedue who took his seat in the creaky old chair.

“Then put it aside.”

“Hmm, I shall finish it. I am not a man to leave anything without completion,” he said, eyes returning to the pages and darting back and forth with alarming speed. Dedue had never seen anyone read that quickly before and soon, a page was turned.

A blanket of silence descended over the pair in the dungeons and Dedue was grateful for any opportunity for quiet he got when he was alone with Hubert. Too often did the mage speak and it was usually to taunt, irritate and aggravate the Duscur man. He remembered how his temper got the better of him the previous night and did his best to stifle his sigh, but with hawk-like hearing, Hubert picked up on it.

“How was your night?”

Dedue blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“When your watch ended yesterday, how was the rest of your night? You seemed to be rather… _pent up_ if I remember correctly… which I do.” He smirked from behind the pages of his book. Dedue grumbled and crossed one leg over the other, leaning back in his chair. Once again, it seemed that Hubert was incapable of keeping his mouth shut longer than a few minutes.

“It is none of your business,” Dedue replied coolly.

“I was merely inquiring, trying to make friendly idle chatter.”

“You? Idle chatter?” Dedue huffed through his nose with a breathy laugh. “You speak only if you have a goal in mind.”

Hubert paused and then a long sly smirk crawled over his thin lips and the mage closed his book. He set it on the floor beside his bed, without a table to lay it upon, and moved one arm behind his head. “Perhaps you are not the only one who is so easily read. Tell me then -amuse me- what is my goal?”

Dedue regarded the dark mage with a heavy emerald glower. His brow was heavy, and his lips pulled into a tight frown, arms folded tightly over his chest. Hubert lay comfortably on his pitifully thin cot, long and stretched out but still dressed fully with his coat and cloak still draped over his shoulders. One arm rested behind his head so that it propped it up and he could return Dedue’s scowl with a mirthful golden glint.

“I would say to try and coax any precious information I might have about our plans to take over Enbarr… however, you have yet to ask about that.” Hubert grinned wider and Dedue scowled. “Then I must assume your goal is to simply exacerbate me beyond all sanity.”

A tiny sound escaped Hubert’s thin lips and for a moment, Dedue thought it sounded remarkably like a _giggle_ , but he thought he must have been mistaken. The high-pitched sound didn’t even sound real; it was so light and teasing Dedue thought he had imagined it but, when he met Hubert’s eyes, he could see the amusement dancing across the other’s face.

“You amuse me,” Hubert said plainly. Dedue’s frown, if possible, deepened.

“Do you speak to the professor and Hanneman with as much disrespect?”

“Oh no, no. Only you.” Hubert tilted his head to the side, drawing a gloved hand to his mouth, playing with his lower lip. “Does that make you feel special?”

Dedue made a noise and turned his head away from the other. Seeing Hubert laid out like this, speaking so disrespectfully and with his long fingers dancing over his lips reminded him of how unabashedly he had behaved during last night’s watch. He would never have thought that Hubert was capable of such shameful expressions and words and had he told his younger self about the things that had come from Hubert’s mouth, he would not have believed even himself.

“Silence,” Dedue said quietly yet firmly, still keeping his gaze cast aside. He could see Hubert moving in his peripheral vision, adjusting himself on his bed.

“Amuse me further, tell me, how did it feel to touch yourself thinking of your king?

Dedue’s eyes widened the same moment his brow came down in frustration. Was Hubert truly such an exceptional reader that he could tell what Dedue had done? Or was it just a lucky stab in the dark? Dedue attempted to give no reaction and do nothing but sigh and tut.

“I said, _silence_.”

“Did you imagine it was his hand instead of your own? Or rather, was it his mouth?”

“Do you _wish_ to have your tongue cut out?”

Hubert let out a long breathy laugh and finally, Dedue turned his gaze back to the mage. He still had one hand behind his head but his other was now firmly rubbing and cupping over the front of his breeches. Dedue froze in his chair. What on _earth_ was going on? He was unable to formulate any kind of response; just what was one supposed to say when the prisoner they were supposed to be watching over was touching themselves? Hubert’s lone eye was glinting, catching the amber glow of the candle, though it was half-lidded and staring at Dedue with a different kind of darkness. Not the cold kind of shadow of malicious that usually filled Hubert’s features but this darkness, it was hot, burning with desire and Dedue bristled.

“Hmm… I should very much like to keep my tongue. I am very skilful with it after all.”

Dedue made a choking noise in the back of his throat, a gasp caught between shock and aberration. He would never have thought Hubert would be capable of such filthy words, but they tumbled so easily from his pale slick lips.

“Tell me,” Hubert continued, still working his hand over the front of his breeches but pressing and squeezing harder, with more insistence. “How did you imagine him to be? _Wild?_ Or soft and pliant, waiting for your gentle touch?” The last two words came out dripping with poisonous sarcasm and Dedue shivered in his seat, his fingers coming to grip at his own arms, trying to control himself.

“I…” Dedue swallowed hard, feeling an uncomfortable sweat start to bead along his hairline. It was both hot and ice cold at the same time. “I… I…”

Hubert tilted his head back and the most unreal sound came from deep within his chest. Dedue’s whole body seemed to erupt, as if on fire when he heard the long hoarse sound being torn from Hubert’s throat. His hand stopped altogether above his breeches and he fixed Dedue with a lust-filled stare and he wasn’t sure if it was just a trick of the light, but Hubert’s face was faintly dusted _pink_.

The dark desire that swam in Hubert’s liquid gold eye made Dedue feel as if he were caught with a blade to his throat. It filled him with fear and a shameful flush of arousal that made his heart thunder in his chest. It was hard to ignore the way that Hubert’s throat bobbed when he swallowed or the way his gloved hand perfectly fit over the curve of his cock straining through his breeches. He looked… _desirable_. Pale skin shining, black hair covering only half of his blushing face with only a half-arrogant smirk across his lips.

“Did you imagine yourself to be pinning him down? Having your way with him, as beasts would?” Hubert managed out, voice lower than before, hand still but just squeezing. Dedue’s eyes would not leave the front of the mage’s breeches; the black fabric contorted wonderfully to the strain of his dick, hard and aching to be freed. He hated how he could not tear his gaze away, his blunt fingernails sinking into his own arms painfully deep. Even in his own breeches, disgracefully, he could feel the heat of arousal stirring his cock to life.

“Hubert…” Dedue staggered out.

The dark mage tilted his head back more and his legs flexed on the bed. His tongue darted out and he wet his own lips, huffing until he stared at Dedue. His eyes were hard, and he was almost glowering at the other, chest rising and falling.

“Leave.”

Dedue was startled. “I… I cannot. I must stay on watch.”

“I am a man too, Dedue,” Hubert stated plainly, shifting on his bed. “I wish to… relieve myself and I am _not_ a man who appreciates an audience.”

Swallowing hard over the considerable lump in his throat, Dedue stood. The candle had waned into nothing more than a puddle of wax with barely a flicker of life left in the flame. His legs were unsteady, and he held onto the chair, regarding Hubert’s form on the bed. It was probably the least composed he had ever seen the other man; laid out so dishevelled and out of breath. H was always immaculate, as cold as steel and unwavering, it was strange to see him so perturbed. Especially by something as base as sexual desire. Dedue thought Hubert was incapable of feeling any human emotion at all.

“I… I cannot leave. I will just…” Dedue cleared his throat and pick up the gold plate with the remnants of the candle on it. He headed along the hall of the dungeon until he stood at the bottom of the stairs and he could gaze up over them to the starry sky above. The cold air washed over his face and he sighed gratefully.

The nature of their ‘relationship’ was a strange one if what they had could even be called a relationship. Dedue watched over Hubert, and Hubert was prisoner. It was nothing more than that. And yet, the more Dedue came to watch over the other, it felt like _he_ was the one steadily becoming the prisoner, captivated by Hubert’s words and facial expressions, all poison and sharp lines. The way the mage held power over the other, using his beloved prince as a weapon against him was unfair, nothing short of foul play, and something Dedue perhaps should have anticipated. But could he have expected Huber to lace his words with lusty and filthy imagery that could send the chaste Duscur man reeling? _No. He could never have expected that._

He let the cold air hit his face and from within the dungeons, he could not hear a sound. He wondered then, how he would know when it would be ‘safe’ to return to his watch. Dedue tutted to himself and marched up the stone stairs back to the monastery and across the grass. _Safe_ … what a pathetic word to choose. He was to _guard_ Hubert and if he had to be present whilst the other touched himself, just to ensure that no trickery happened, then so be it.

For now, however, Dedue elected to retrieve another candle and grant Hubert the few brief moments of privacy he had wanted before he returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I should bring some actual plot into this story and have them go into battle or whatever or if it should remain as pure smut... feel free to leave some comments and suggestions if you have any! Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5 - Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedue succumbs to Hubert's dark magic. But is there even a spell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick chapter since I want to get to writing this again (amongst my other things, fuck). I realised most of my chapters were being split into two 'parts' like two days, so I wrote a quick one so that the next chapter could be focused entirely on one scene - which will be _hot_.

When Dedue returned to his watch that night, after retrieving a second candle, Hubert had the book back in his hands and his eyes were dancing across the page. He didn’t even look up when the Duscur man re-took his seat in the creaky old chair, nor when he cleared his throat to alert the prisoner he had returned. Hubert was still, laying on the bed, reading, as if nothing had happening mere minutes before.

There was no evidence of Hubert’s… _spend_. Dedue thought briefly if he should ask if the other required a cloth and water to clean up but with not a droplet within sight and the likely chance of being blown to oblivion by dark magic, he held his tongue.

Returning to his room following his watch, Dedue found it difficult to fall asleep. His brow beaded with sweat and his pyjamas clung uncomfortably to his sticky body. He kept his hands clasped and fingers interlaced above his stomach, determined not to move them an inch lower.

All he could imagine was Hubert. How dishevelled that man had looked laying on the bed with an expression that screamed for Dedue to throw open the cell door and touch him. But no. That would be precisely what the other man wanted, wouldn’t it? He knew about Dedue’s tendencies and his fancies and so sought to exploit them, as any good strategist would. Playing upon his likeness for men, he touched himself in front of Dedue and the dark-skinned man cursed at how easily he had been rendered useless.

It was all part of a vile plan to exacerbate, frustrate and weaken Dedue. That _had_ to be it. Nonetheless, Hubert planted a hot seed of desire deep in the pit of Dedue’s stomach.

It grew within him and Dedue struggled to contain himself. The image of Hubert’s pale neck, exposed waiting to be bitten, to have blood drawn and trickle down the white canvas. Dedue was not a blood-thirsty man, rather, he was a pacifist… if violence could be avoided. But he couldn’t ignore how tantalizing it would be to see Hubert made human, to see his blood trail down his neck, over his prominent collarbones, to his chest—

Dedue groaned and pushed the heels of his palms deep against his eyes. _No. This was precisely what he wanted_. He _wanted_ to Dedue to think of him this way, break him down, expose him, make him _want_ him… but no. He couldn’t.

Without shame, Dedue forced the image of Hubert from his mind and pictured Dimitri instead. If this was how his night was going to be, he certainly wasn’t going to lower himself by falling directly into Hubert’s desirous trap. He pictured His Highness instead, all tall and sweeping blonde hair pulled from his handsome face into a high ponytail with a gentle smile across his face that made his blue eye twinkle. He imagined Dimitri tucking a few loose strands of his blonde hair behind his ear, away from his face so he could smile upwards at Dedue. The prince had changed immeasurably after Rodrigue’s death; no longer the wild and feral boar prince he was rumoured to have been, he had repented and become himself once again.

No, not even that. He was _better_ than before; more mature, filling out the image of a prince and king. Brave, strong, broad, handsome… Dedue’s mind wandered. He pictured the last time he and Dimitri had changed the sauna together, tight-fitting uniform shirts clinging to their muscles. Dedue’s one hand wandered from his face and down his body, slipping beneath the sheets to grip at himself, half-hard already. His tired green eyes slid shut and he hummed to himself in appreciation feeling his own thick hand massage back and forth steadily over his growing need.

He remembered how Dimitri had been bent forward, elbows resting on his knees with a towel dabbing at his face. The sweat rolled down his face freely, following the perfect angular curves of his cheekbones and along his jaw. Dedue remembered with excruciating detail the way a single droplet of sweat clung on for dear life to the point of Dimitri’s chin, tantalizingly fragile until it fell and landed on his thickly muscled thigh, revealed by his short academy loungewear.

Dedue groaned to himself, clenching his buttocks as he rocked into his hand, remembering the glisten of Dimitri’s beautiful golden skin. His eyes followed up Dimitri’s thighs, half-yearning to see what lay beneath those slightly damp shorts. And shamefully, Dedue wanted to bury his nose in them and inhale the prince’s scent. Like his armpits, he imagined it would thick and heady, and perhaps even saltier with a tang of metal filling his nostrils.

“ _Mmh_ …” Dedue moaned softly again, hastily pushing his breeches down thinking of Dimitri still.

He imagined what it would have been like if the two had been alone in the sauna… and if Dimitri returned his lustful feelings. He thought to himself how good it would feel to have taken the prince right there, clinging on for dear life but his thick greedy fingers slipping over his tanned back from the sweat. He tried to picture the prince’s face; would it have been contorted with pleasure, open-mouthed, flushed red and panting? Or would he have grit his teeth and growled for Dedue to fuck him faster?

He darted his tongue out to wet his lips and breathed heavily to himself, lost in his own lustful delirium. Images of Dimitri filled his mind’s eyes, bent forward and backwards, spread open beautifully wide with a pink hole fluttering to be filled, his long slender cock flushed red against his stomach, the flash of green eyes staring up at him—

_Green?_

Dedue’s own hand froze on his cock. _Hubert_. Even now, he permeated his thoughts. Dedue snarled to himself and shook his head, hoping to free himself of whatever cruel spell the mage had or was casting upon him. He turned onto his side, half-burying his face into his pillow and purposefully brought Dimitri back to his mind.

He thought about fucking him in the training grounds, pressed against the dirty floor, face down and ass up. He imagined the salty tang of Dimitri’s crack and hole against his flat tongue, swallowing greedily to himself as he imagined how it how sting his tastebuds. Dedue fisted his cock quickly, flying his fist over himself rapidly, his arm jerking erratically. He had to finish quickly, before any more unwelcome thoughts of Hubert and his sadistic smirk, slender neck and elegant fingers invaded his mind.

He imagined how satisfying it would be to see the flash of teeth grit tightly coupled with a hardened but lustful expression, smirking and urging him to no longer be gentle but take what he wanted and give in to his desires. He could see the flames dancing in that single eye that bore into him, the sadistic smirk and perfect white teeth grinning up at him, dark hair cascading and shadowing his face, lithe and slender pale body forced hard into the dusty ground.

Hubert would command him to fuck him faster and Dedue would do nothing but obey. With a staggered and reluctant cry, Dedue spilt himself into his palm, his cock pulsing and throbbing rope after filthy rope of thick white cum over his fingers. He panted hard and his eyes slid shut, wrenched tightly.

He could imagine him now; cruel and calm, cackling quietly to himself as he saw Dedue succumb. The Duscur man cursed. The dark mage had slipped into his thoughts without him having noticed; one moment it was Dimitri, and the next, the golden skin paled and the blonde hair turned to raven black. The beautifully handsome smile curled into something more snake-like and sadistic and Dedue shuddered.

He threw his covers off himself, drenched in a cold sweat. He reached for his small towel and wiped his hand off with more disgust than usual.

He had somewhat come to terms with his feelings about Dimitri; he acknowledged them and decided that acting privately would not harm their relationship. He was far too loyal to betray the prince’s friendship and what he did in private, well, it was kept to himself.

But for that accursed Adrestian mage to infiltrate his most private and intimate moments… it had to be a curse. _It had to be_. There was no way that those thoughts would come to Dedue ‘naturally’… no. The dark-skinned man stared at his own palm, now wiped clean from his seed but he could still feel the filth permeating his skin, sinking in and poisoning him. He grit his teeth and clenched his fist tightly, throwing the covers back over himself and huddling tightly into himself, knees curling and tucking upwards. He was frowning against his pillow, almost painfully so.

Dedue wasn’t sure what he was going to do. There was no way he would be able to approach Dimitri about this… the idea of the conversation alone mortified him. He also could not bear to face the professor nor Hanneman who shared in his duties of watching Hubert. There was only one thing left to do.

Confront Hubert himself.


End file.
